


A Collage Of Working Dysfunction

by naboru



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Comedy, Dark, Implied Violence, M/M, Plug and Play, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are nothing that they wanted, but everything they need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Collage Of Working Dysfunction

**Title:** A Collage Of Working Dysfunction  
 **Warnings:** comedy, poss. dark, implied violence, non-graphic smut of the plug’n’play variety  
 **Continuity:** G1  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Blast Off/Vortex, ensemble  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Summary:** They are nothing that they wanted, but everything they need.  
 **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
 **Beta:** The awesome [ultharkitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty)! Thanks again! *hugs* :)

Note: A collection of Blast Off & Vortex moments; a small spotlight on their relationship… or whatever that is between them. *lol*

 

 **A Collage Of Working Dysfunction**

Blast Off leant at the door frame, raising an optical ridge. Vortex hadn’t even noticed him, so he activated his vocaliser and let emerge a staticky rustle. It echoed through the room, mingling with the sound of cooling fans.

The ‘copter turned, and looked at him in curiosity. His battle mask was retracted, and he was covered in energon, oil and coolant. Blast Off shuddered at the view; it was repulsive and _thrilling_.

“What do you want?”

Blast Off wasn’t really surprised to hear not the faintest hint to annoyance in the voice. Behind his mask, the shuttle grinned. It was probably the “Blast Off bonus”, which was usually expressed by random touching, unbearably awkward comments and attempts to seduce him.

However, it also granted Blast Off permission to interrupt Vortex’ work; it was an open secret.

“Onslaught said you should hurry. Megatron is impatient.”

Vortex tilted his head. “It takes time for… satisfying results.”

“Satisfying for you, or for Megatron?”

“Make a guess.”

Vortex smirked, and Blast Off decided that it looked rather good, hidden beneath all the filth.

Venting a sigh, the shuttle shook his head. “Whatever… if he doesn’t know anything, at least disable his vocaliser. Brawl won’t stop whining about the noise.”

The answer was a shrug and a grin, before Vortex turned again towards the chained, tortured Autobot.

“Where were we…?” was the last, cheerful question which Blast Off heard, before he left and closed the door.

*****

Blast Off sat in the rec-room of the Combaticon base, reading a datapad containing data of this solar system. He was bored, but happy with it, at least here it was silent.

Or, it had been silent until Brawl and Swindle entered the room, discussing something he wasn’t interested in. He didn’t greet them, and didn’t pay any attention, just sipped from his energon, and started reading the same line the second time.

Blast Off heard Brawl yelling something, probably at him, but he didn’t care. The next mission was more important than anything the thick tank had to say.

He would have spent the next few joors sitting and reading in the rec-room if Onslaught hadn’t stomped in; his engine racing, which was an indication that he was angry.

“Where is Vortex?”

He didn’t greet them either.

Blast Off shrugged, and from the corner of his optics, he saw Swindle doing the same. Brawl, however, winced.

“Eh, the ‘copter went out… some time ago…” the tank said, his voice slightly anxious under the thuggish tone.

“And whereto? Did he say _anything_ where he wanted to go?”

Yes, Onslaught was really annoyed, Blast Off thought, venting a low sigh.

“Said he wanted to climb on a mountain or something… Which is kinda stupid, because he can fly… he also has a flying alt-mode, so…” Brawl stopped when Swindle nudged him with his elbow.

“… _climb on a mountain?_ ” Onslaught sounded disbelieving, Blast Off was amused. “…which mountain?!”

Brawl winced again. “Eh… dunno. Mount Ernest or something… Ever Nest…”

“Mount Everest?” Onslaught’s engine shifted into a higher gear.

 _Three…_

“Did he _really_ say he wanted to climb Mount Everest?!”

 _Two…_

“Uhm… maybe? Hey, you know the ‘copter, he’s crazy!”

 _One…_

Onslaught mumbled something intelligible, before he turned to Blast Off.

 _Zero._

“Blast Off, go and get Vortex back! And do it quick.”

This time he vented a louder sigh, subspaced his datapad and stood up. Nodding to Onslaught as a sign he had heard him, he went out.

\---

He found Vortex at 5763 meters , covered in snow - in alt-mode.

Weather was bad. It was cold, the wind velocity was really high, and the snow came from every side, but it had no effect on Blast Off. The noise of the wind would drown his voice, so he opened a comm.-link to Vortex

‘What are you doing?’

‘Waiting.’

Vortex sounded rather cheerful, and Blast Off had no idea why. Maybe the energon in his lines was frozen and Vortex liked it? It was a possibility.

‘For what?’

‘Hehe, until the weather gets better.’

This didn’t make sense, but since when did the ‘copter ever, Blast Off thought, and his low, annoyed sigh was inaudible in the noise of the storm. He opened his cargo bay.

‘Get in, quick. Onslaught is enraged, because you’re missing.’

‘Sorry, can’t do that.’

‘…why? Do you need help?’

‘Nah, I just need to reach the peak first. Just can’t fly in that weather… Too much turbulence.’

Another idiocy of one of his team mates, which Blast Off didn’t understand. He didn’t ask why Vortex wanted to get to the peak, or why he didn’t transform and fly up. In his alt-mode Vortex would never reach it, because the atmosphere was most likely too thin to support him.

‘Your last chance: get in!’

‘Oh… or then what?’

If Blast Off had been in root-mode, he would have shaken his head about the intrigued note in Vortex’s voice, and he did, after he’d transformed.

‘Stupid ‘copter,’ he muttered over the comm. and grabbed Vortex by his rotors, pulling him out of the heap of snow which had covered him.

‘Hey, let go of me. What are you doing?’

‘Mute it.’ Blast Off said, and cut the link. Powering up his thrusters, he increased their altitude and broke through the cloud ceiling. The wind and cold was still there, but the snow was gone. The clouds reflected the sun’s rays and for a moment Blast Off was nearly blind, before his optics adjusted themselves to the change in brightness.

He flew to the mountain’s peak and almost threw Vortex on it, opening the comm. again.

‘There! And now come.’ His tone left no room for objection this time, and Vortex seemed to know it, because he transformed when Blast Off did.

‘Uhm, but you won't tell anyone you brought me here, right?’ Vortex asked as he climbed into Blast Off’s cargo.

“No.” He deliberately let sound an irritated sigh through his onboard speakers. “I found you on the peak.”

“In alt-mode!”

“…in alt-mode.“

Due to the closed door, they didn’t need to use the communication link anymore.

“Hehe, cool.”

Vortex settled on one of the passenger seats, and appeared to be quite content. Why, Blast Off could just guess, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t care.

“The weather on this planet is really awful, right? Pretty cold.” The happy tone was a contrast to Vortex’s words, and Blast Off didn’t answer. He was built for worse temperatures, and had seen planets with more terrible conditions.

“I can throw you in a volcano if you’re too cold.” There was almost a hint of sarcasm in Blast Off’s murmur, but he really meant what he’d said. Nevertheless, Vortex wouldn’t take his words seriously and laugh.

And he did.

*****

Blast Off sat in the rec-room of the Combaticon base, drinking his energon silently. Brawl was on a mission with Blitzwing, and Swindle did whatever he did when he wasn’t needed.

Onslaught was the only other one there, but he also drank his energon in silence, reading a datapad, sitting a few feet away from Blast Off.

They acknowledged each other, and in moments like this they weren’t commander and soldier, but only two mechs in the same room. Even Onslaught needed casual company now and then, and Blast Off tolerated it as long as he kept quiet.

The atmosphere changed when Vortex entered the room; his plating covered in energon. He went straight to Onslaught, rotors quivering as a sign of pleasure, or pain, it made no difference to Vortex.

From the corner of his optics, Blast Off saw them exchanging a few words, and Onslaught’s vents heaved air loudly. Apparently, Vortex didn’t have much information.

Another few words were spoken, before Onslaught nodded and went out, probably reporting whatever the ‘copter had to tell to Megatron.

Vortex sat down on the opposite chair, and Blast Off looked up.

“Not reading?” From his voice Blast Off could tell that Vortex was grinning. He ignored the question, and asked one of his own.

“So, concerning the amount of energon on your frame, I assume the Autobot is dead?”

Vortex replied with mock surprise. “Of course _not_! You’re insulting me and my abilities with this assumption…” There was a brief pause, before he carried on, this time with open sadism and gloating. “He’s still alive… it’s much more fun when they try to rescue him…”

Blast Off raised an optical ridge. He wasn’t looking forward to fighting Autobots in their base. It would have been easier to kill the ‘bot immediately, but this was Onslaught’s decision to make.

Impassively, he shrugged.

“So…” Vortex began anew; his sentence long-drawn-out. “…what do I do about this energon? Any ideas?”

“You could wash it off.” Blast Off answered coldly, and heard the soft chuckle from the ‘copter.

“You could help me.”

“Yes, I could…” This time Blast Off grinned behind his mask. “But I won’t.”

The disappointed huff from Vortex’s vents indicated that he understood.

Blast Off made the rules, and Vortex had to play by them.

*****

1 joor, 4 breems and 2.68 kliks Blast Off had to endure this torture and his optic twitched.

Wildrider looked at him, expecting an answer, but the shuttle only growled.

“Shut up.”

“Awww c’mon. I’m here, you’re here… and it’s boring. So, what do you think of the movie?”

Clenching his jaw and his fists, Blast Off tried to calm down.

1 joor, 4 breems and 3.29 kliks of talking, and even worse _poking_.

Wildrider’s fingers prodded into his side, as though trying to elicit an answer. Blast Off growled again, and the Stunticon laughed.

“Hehe, growly.” He poked again, and Blast Off tensed, heaving air through his intakes.

“You really growl a lot.” Wildrider continued and grinned. “That’s cool. Sounds kinda dangerous.”

Again, Blast Off’s optic twitched. Apparently, it wasn’t dangerous enough.

The Stunticon came nearer, even more than he already was. For 1 joor, 4 breems and 5.36 kliks he consistently decreased the distance between them. At the beginning, it had been three yards, now it weren’t more than a few inches, at least that was how it felt to Blast Off.

Then, Wildrider spoke again, and touched his arm. “Hey, hey! You need to scare Breakdown sometimes. I bet he’s going to jump if…”

He couldn’t end his sentence.

Blast Off had taken out his gun of his subspace and pointed it at the Stunticon. He freed his arm, and his engine rumbled while he said: “Shut up. Now!”

Wildrider raised his hands in defence, laughing confidently. “Hehe. Touchy. You wouldn’t do that. We’re on a mission.”

Blast Off didn’t concern himself to answer.

1 joor, 4 breems and 6.79 kliks were truly enough.

Blast Off fired.

\---

Blast Off sat on the berth in his cell, looking tiredly at the wall. At least he could relax without anyone nearby to disturb his peace and quiet.

He sighed contently, and offlined his optics.

Though, Blast Off had cheered too soon as a few kliks later the door to the cell complex opened. He refused to boot up his optical sensors. The sound of the steps made it clear who he had to expect.

He waited.

The noise of a chair moving over the metal floor, the sound of sitting down, shifting, gears changing positions as rotor blades fanned.

Silence again, but not for long.

“You’re in the brig.” The tone wasn’t amused or judging, it was just a statement.

Blast Off didn’t bother to reply.

“I asked Onslaught what happened, but he didn’t answer…” The voice changed, slightly pouting now, and Blast Off almost grinned.

“You wanna tell me?”

He still didn’t respond.

“Ah, c’mon. You can tell me. I’m gonna ask and annoy you until you tell me.” A soft chuckle. Blast Off knew the words were true.

“So, what did you do to Wildrider?”

The shuttle sighed again, now in defeat. He couldn’t bring the other mech to leave, but he could try to make him stop talking.

“I shot his vocaliser.”

There was a whistle, similar to the type male humans produced in these TV shows Blast Off’s instruments sometimes picked up in space.

“Wow… his vocaliser?”

Blast Off nodded, and added: “And his hands…”

“His hands, too? Whoohooo…!” A gleeful laughter echoed through the cell complex. “Why?”

“He didn’t stop talking and touching.”

“Oh…”

Again a short period of silence, where only the sound of metal against metal could be heard - a foot scuffing at the ground, maybe.

Then the voice spoke anew, disappointed.

“You never shoot me…”

A new chuckle, Blast Off’s this time, and he smirked behind his mask.

“You would like it too much.”

The third time it was silent, but Blast Off knew Vortex was grinning as well.

*****

Blast Off pressed him harder to the berth, knowing it would block Vortex’ intakes, and the hot metal beneath him would become even hotter. He didn’t care about that, and he knew Vortex didn’t either. The ‘copter loved the pain, loved the thrill, that Blast Off might make him burn, so that his core melted.

As if this was his purpose, he leant low, his chest plates pressing onto the rotor blades, sending the vibration straight through them.

Vortex moaned loudly. He was forbidden to talk. It was Blast Off’s way of preventing himself from hearing the ‘copter’s words. Words which were disgusting, obscene and _exciting_.

Blast Off hated himself for that. That he did what he did, that he hadn’t been able to resist - again.

His free hand grabbed around a rotor, squeezing it hard, before he bent it down, causing pain and arousal, which was sent right back into him through the open gestalt bond.

He shivered, his engine revved, stimulating his own body and the one lying under him.

Blast Off hated it. He hated that he had become - what he was now. He hated what Vortex had done to him, and what he did to Vortex.

“I hate you!” Blast Off panted, static-laden.

Vortex laughed softly, a sound which sent shudders over Blast Off’s chassis. “I know.”

“Shut up!”

Another chuckle, followed by a moan.

“Just shut the frag up…!”

It was disgusting what they did. Disgusting, irritating, wrong, but it felt so good, and for an instant Blast Off thought that Vortex was right when he had said the shuttle should stop thinking so much.

He stroked over the full length of Vortex’ side, deliberately ignoring the buzzing interface panel. Over the bond he sent a pulse of his own arousal, and let Vortex know that he wasn’t about to establish the connection yet.

Blast Off could wait; his need wasn’t as strong as that of the ‘copter, who squirmed beneath him, his frame growing hotter by every astrosecond.

Blast Off was going to make him wait, to make him melt.

Opening his side of it further, he transmitted another burst of arousal, but also the knowing that he didn’t cling on this sensation as Vortex did. That he could leave any moment if he wanted to, and that he _would_ if Vortex broke the rules.

It wasn’t that Vortex disliked it.

The ‘copter loved mental and physical torture exactly the same…

Blast Off bent another rotor blade, earned another moan, and he liked this sound, too. That was when Blast Off agreed: he shouldn’t think so much, he should just _do_

And again he reached the point, where he decided that he didn’t hate it at all…

*****

Blast Off held his arms down above his head; his wrists were squeezed so hard, it dented the metal. The shuttle’s weight pressed him onto the berth and the energy field pulsed hard against his own.

That was when Vortex remembered why it was worth the wait.

Blast Off leaned forward, his battle mask was retracted, and Vortex felt the light touches of the lip plates as the shuttle whispered near his audio sensors.

“I’m not your frag toy…”

A faint whimper escaped Vortex’ vocaliser.

He knew Blast Off hated it when he talked, so he just nodded, and hoped it was enough of an answer.

His reward was an amused, teasing laughter. Vortex loved this sound, and the vibration which came along with it. He arched his back to get more of it, and he thought he was going insane when Blast Off slightly changed the tact of his engine.

Another laugh, before the shuttle spoke again.

“No… you’re _mine_.”


End file.
